Life Next Door (Love Not Included Series Book 2) (6 page)

“I want you inside me. Like five minutes ago.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” He slams his lips onto mine and ravishes my mouth, kissing me relentlessly while pushing my skirt up my thighs. He pushes down his jeans and kicks them off. I hear the sound of a wrapper tearing and he adjusts me so he can, I assume, put a condom on. All this action without breaking the kiss; it should be considered an art form. I feel him push me harder against the wall. He positions himself right at my center and I can feel his thick erection ready to invade my sopping wet entrance.

“You ready, baby?”

“Oh God yes, Trent, do it.”

He freezes. We lock eyes and his stare is way intense. I start to worry I’ve said something wrong, until he speaks. “Say my name again. I want to hear you say my name.”

“I want you inside me, Trent. NOW.”

“My pleasure.” And in he goes. Now, if I thought his fingers were magical, this is ecstasy
on ecstasy
. He plunges deep inside me, filling me completely. I was worried about his large size, since I haven’t had the real thing in so long, but he knows exactly how to work himself and allow me to stretch for him. Once deep inside, he pauses, trying to steady his breath.

His line of vision is directly in my path and those heated eyes scream with some serious intentions. There is nothing sexier than looking into the intense, lust-filled eyes of a man who is about to do some serious banging.

Then, it’s on.

He slowly pulls out, only to slam back into me. His head falls back. “Oh shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight around my dick, CeCe. So sweet.” He pulls out and slams in once again. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open or from rolling in the back of my head. This is what serious wet dreams are made of. This hot hunk of a man pounding me against the doorframe. If I die tomorrow, it may all be okay.

Trent starts to pick up speed. In and out, in and out, he pounds into me. With each thrust, he sends me closer and closer to oblivion. I can’t hold on much longer and I know he can tell because my insides are starting to clench around him. Two more pumps, and just as he grabs my nipple with his mouth, I go flying. Like black spots, vision impaired, shooting orgasm through my toes, flying. My mouth opens to shout, scream, moan, but nothing leaves my throat except a strangled gasp.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it, come around me.” Trent gives one more solid push of his hard cock into my center and he follows me into the blinding explosion of his own orgasm.

Holy hell in a hand basket.

Catching my breath is almost impossible and the urgent sensation of both our hearts beating erratically from our chests shows we are both worn-out. Trent picks his head up from my collarbone and kisses slowly up my neck.

“God, the real thing is
sooo
much better,” I mumble
. Uh, wait. What did I just say?

“What was that?” Good question, because I’m not sure that really came out of my mouth.

“I said that was exactly what I needed, thanks.”

He laughs. “You’re welcome. Anytime you need a good wall banging, please allow me to assist.” We stand there, molded to the wall, showing no signs of moving, which is good. I know for a fact my legs don’t have feeling in them and standing is simply not an option.

“CeCe?” he says my name, getting my attention.

“Yeah?”

“Say my name again.” 

With an intake of breath, his name leaves my lips. “Trent.”

“Yeah. That’s it. No more of this
neighbor
bullshit, okay? I figure since we just got to know each other on a whole new level, names are only the proper next step. Yeah?”

My turn–I throw my head back and laugh. Has my tough, badass detective neighbor just gone sentimental on me? “So, say this happens again, which I am not promising…I’m not allowed to scream
neighbor
during my orgasm?” At that he smacks my ass from behind and bites my lace-covered nipple.

“Ouch!”

“Yeah, trust me, Sweetcheeks. You will be screaming more than just ‘neighbor’
and
my name the next time this happens. You feel me?”

Oh shit. There it is again. The gauntlet.

“Yeah, I feel you,” I say. Seriously, to think of what would happen to make me scream all that gets me worked up again.

While he stands there, holding me tightly against the wall, I’m reminded of my embarrassing stunt with the girlfriend accusations. I mean to apologize, but apparently my brain has other ideas. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” Yep, just call me Crazy CeCe.

He laughs at what I think is a serious question. “CeCe, you just attacked me because you thought I had a girlfriend and now you want to know why I don’t? I’m not sure it’s safe to answer this one.”

“Ha ha, I told you this town was crazy—me included.”

“Stop it,” he says and brushes a piece of my wild sex hair away from my face. “I don’t think you’re crazy. Not fully.” He squeezes me tighter, avoiding any free limbs loose for smacking.

He’s still laughing softly. “I’m kidding. In all seriousness, the answer is work. I was pulled away from home a lot on assignment and was never home long enough to get into anything serious.” It makes sense. I can see why that wouldn’t sit well with someone; I freaked out about his weeklong disappearance and I’m not even dating him.

“Does that answer suffice?” he asks, bringing me back to the present convo.

“Yeah, it will do. For now.”

“Good. Now I believe we were talking about how you are going to scream my name.”

Heck yeah we were, and just thinking about it gets me all heated again. I can tell he’s excited again, too, because I can feel him growing hard inside me. Just when I think round two is most definitely in order, our plans get derailed by pizza.

The doorbell rings and sends me jumping off the wall. “Jesus!” I squeal.

“You expecting visitors?”

“Yes, in the form of pizza,” I say. “Shit, I have to get that.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, as the doorbell rings again. “Where did you order pizza from?”

“Jake’s, why?”

Trent shouts to the door. “Hey Billy, that you? Just leave the pizza. I’ll come by tomorrow and pay you along with a tip, pal.”

“Oh my God! What are you doing?!” I hiss at him.

“Um, Mr. Walker, is that you?”

“Yeah, Bud, leave the pizza and get going. I’ll see your old man tomorrow at the station. Give you the money. You cool with that?”

“Um yeah, sure, Mr. Walker. Um, tell Ms. Westcott I said have a good evening.”

“Will do, Buddy.”

I listen to the footsteps descend and disappear into the night. I push myself off Trent, grabbing at the opportunity to allow him to loosen his grip and let my legs fall to the ground. The awkward movement causes him to pull out of me which creates an unwanted empty feeling in my core.

“What’s your deal?” he asks, confused at my sudden coldness.

“My deal is you just practically announced what we were doing to a seventeen-year-old kid who is going to go home and tell his girlfriend, who will then gossip to her mother. You see the pattern I’m building, right?”

“So? Who cares? We’re adults, last I checked.”

“Yeah, well, when a simple story turns into town gossip about how I am sleeping with my neighbor, it doesn’t pan out too well.”

He seems confused and doesn’t really get it. Without realizing it, he has labeled me as just as bad as Jeff. Monkey see, monkey do.

“Hey. Did I miss something here?” he asks, sounding a bit put-off.

“No, it’s fine. I’m just tired.”

“Are you for real right now?” he bites back. Now this is pissing me off. Orgasm gone and wine now removing its cloud over my judgment, I’m starting to see that this was a bad idea.

“Listen, maybe this was a bad idea...” Or
maybe
that was the wrong thing to say. The eyes that are bulging out at me don’t seem to agree with my “oopsy” statement.

“You know, I don’t know what you’re so fucking bitter about all the time. I thought a good fucking would loosen you up, but it seems like you are just all around uptight.”

Oh. No. He. Didn’t.

He moves away from me to peel off the condom, ties it and throws it into the trashcan sitting by the coffee table. He grabs his pants and shoves them on. He storms back to me, but this time just to move past me and open the door. Before stomping down the porch he turns back. “Why don’t you call me when you’re done being so uptight?” And with that grand finale, he fumes across the lawn.

I open my mouth with the intent to yell back, and then close it. Open, then close again. I am stunned and speechless. By the time I finally say something, which is, “Fuck off,
NEIGHBOR
!” I hear his front door open and slam shut.

Son of a bitch.

Words. They have so much power when used in the wrong context. Words such as
bitter
. Or
uptight
. Or even…well no, just those two. Those two words continue to ring in my head along with my killer hangover. I hope you didn’t think I just put my tail between my legs after that debacle and went to bed. I, of course, wouldn’t be standing up for what I believe in if I didn’t walk back into my kitchen and rip open my “in case of emergency” cabinet where I stash the hard stuff. Tequila has never been a friend to me, but in times of need, it does the trick.

Two hours later and after a whole lot of mumbling to myself, I ended up doing the only thing that felt right: egging the neighbor’s house. It’s always made me feel better before, so I felt there was no reason to break tradition. I wasn’t surprised he didn’t come out when he heard them hitting his house; I was also not sure any actually made it to the house. I vaguely remember a lot cracking in my hand while I was attempting to toss and feeling egg yolk sliding all down my arms. Aborting my mission pretty quickly into it, I ended up dumping them in the open window of his Jeep and calling it a night.

Today, I don’t feel so powerful. I feel really hung over and even more embarrassed at what happened. I shouldn’t have snapped at Trent for something he had no idea was affecting me. But in the end, he said some hurtful things and spat out accusations about the type of person he thinks I am.

Bitter? Maybe. But I’m not carrying around this grudge against the world. So what if I whine and complain in the comfort of my own home? That’s my right. “Uptight” is what really sets me off. I am SO not uptight. I am not sure who he thinks he is, labeling me as something I am most certainly not. He doesn’t even know me! If you added up all the real time we have spent together, it wouldn’t even amount to a full day!

Suddenly, I am back to not feeling so bad about the egg debacle. Serves his rude, judgmental ass right for making such assumptions. Just when I thought I was talking myself into apologizing, I smartened up, thank God. Apology my ass. Won’t be coming from me.

Now, will I leave the house all weekend? Hell no! The second he catches wind of those smashed eggs in his Jeep, I’m dead meat. I just know it. He doesn’t look like a guy who takes well to a car lashing. I debate whether there’s a chance he won’t pair together the eggs I had last night to the ones playing house in his front seat. Then I realize I’m dreaming and am for
SURE
not leaving the house at all.

Time. Time is such a nerve-wracking thing when you are just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s going into mid-evening and there’s still no sign of retaliation from the neighbor. I periodically peek out the window to see if his Jeep has moved; it hasn’t. A teeny weeny part of me feels bad because it’s hotter than the devil’s ass outside and those eggs for sure have to be frying in there. I’ve debated seventeen times going out there and cleaning his seat, twenty-one times telling him to eat shit for calling me names, two times...okay, maybe twelve times, just going over there and throwing myself at him, reliving our sexual escapade all over again. Assuming that happened, it would hopefully balance out the whole egg issue, we’d move forward with being civil and I could feel safe leaving my house again.

The thing I am left pondering for the day is silence. Silence can be a very scary thing.

Sunday turned out to be a replica of Saturday. Take away tanning or doing anything that requires being seen in the window and add hiding out in your bedroom all day, and Sunday turns out to be a pretty boring day. Freeing up a lot of my day, I did get to spend most of it in my creative room, designing cake tiers and recipe ideas for my dream bakery menu. I really want to try out some of the recipes at May’s, but I’m not sure how they will stick. I would ask May about it if she would return any of my calls. Even Lifetime lets me down. With nothing but love and family cutesy movies scheduled all day long, I had no other choice but to search for my second bestie.
Snapped
was more up my mood alley.

This brings us to Monday morning, which I would like to call “Judgment Day”—the day when I have no choice but to step outside into the world and face what is coming to me. You have to figure, it’s been like forty-eight hours. How mad can one person be? He’s a grown adult. His anger can’t still be festering. Sheesh, grow up, buddy.

I truck through my daily routine: workout, shower, breakfast. I wait it out long enough to hear his Jeep pull out of the driveway and leave. Thank God. If I had to stay cooped up in this house any longer, I was going to go insane! I grab for my bag and dash out of the house. I literally had about twenty-seven more seconds until I had no choice but to face the music, because I was going to be seriously late to work. I open my door and sprint down the stairs, only to be sideswiped by a strong set of arms and launched backwards into the strong chest of the enemy. And of course, what do I do? I scream like a little baby.

“For fuck sakes, stop screaming in my ear! I'm gonna go deaf.”

For one, I think I may have peed my pants a little. Two, I definitely didn’t see that one coming.

He loosens his grip on me, assuming I won’t make a mad dash back inside, and starts walking us to my car.

“What are you doing?”

“Walking us to your car.”

“Why?” I ask, because right about now I feel about as safe as those poor eggs boiling in his front seat.

“Because you are driving me to work.”

“What? Why? I can’t drive you to work, it’s going to make me late and I cannot be late on Mondays.”

“Too bad, Sweetcheeks. You’re driving me.”

“Why can’t you drive your own car?”
I feel like I really set myself up for this one.

“Because it’s at the shop getting cleaned and detailed. Get in. I don’t want to be late.”

Shit.

Remember in high school when you were in Driver’s Ed? How it felt every time you got in the car with your stuffy, uptight teacher? Well, that is exactly how I am feeling right now. I can’t really remember the last time I ever drove 10 and 2, but right about now, following the rules sounds like the safest bet.

“Where am I taking you again?”

“To work.”

“Fantastic. Where is that?” Seriously?

“The police station. And why are you driving all weird? And slow? You’re not even doing the speed limit
.” I'm not? Hello, Driver’s Ed flashback!

“Well, maybe because you are a little frightening right now and I am trying to stay calm so you don’t get any crazy ideas and try to murder me.”

He looks at me like I’m the crazy one! Strange.

“Why would I want to murder you, Sweetcheeks?” Apparently we’re back to nicknames.

“Well, I don’t know, why do you think
I
would think
you
would want to murder me?” Hey, I said I wasn’t uptight. I never said anything about being immature.

“Why are you driving me to work, CeCe?” Oh man, back to real names. Whiplash central from this guy.

“Because I’m a nice neighbor and you needed a ride?”

“No, babe, because someone decided to be childish after, what I thought, was a pretty good fucking moment, and act like it wasn’t. Then proceed to make matters even worse by vandalizing my Jeep.”

Now, I was never all that great in theatre class, but I’m pretty sure I can pull this one off.

“Oh my, what happened to your car?”

Stunned anger is not that bad of a look on his attractive face. “You’re shittin’ me right now, right?”

Okay, guess not. “Okay, so listen, I’m sorry. I may have taken things a bit too far, but you said some hurtful things. You don’t even know me well enough to make such harsh accusations. Get to know me, then fine, but you don’t get to judge me in under twenty-four hours. I’m really a nice person!”

Trent is silent for about…one, two, three more seconds before he turns to me. “Pull the car over.”

Wait, what?
“What? Why?”

“CeCe, pull the car over—now.”

Shit, he’s going to do it this time. I’m a goner. It’s not like I have to do any crazy maneuvering since apparently I am driving like a turtle and we aren’t even out of our neighborhood yet. I pull the car over and place it in park. Trent unbuckles my seat belt and in a matter of seconds he’s picking me up from my seat and placing me on his lap.

“What are you—” I get three words out before his hand is pulling down on the back of my neck and his mouth is on mine. He’s kissing my lips, sucking on my lower one and coaxing my mouth open so his tongue can enter. At this, I sigh. He really is a good kisser, and who wouldn’t sigh at a moment like this? I relax into his embrace and take what he’s giving. A great makeup kiss (I hope).

Too soon, he pulls away and brushes the hair out of my face. “I’m sorry for judging you,” he says sincerely.

I follow suit and throw in my own apology. “I’m sorry for egging your car.”

“And?” he says, waiting.

I exhale too audibly. “And…your house.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at me. “Thank you. But seriously, stop egging the house. What did that poor house ever do to you?”

Ugh. If he only knew.